Digging Deeper into The Fifteen by Michelle Kidd
The Fifteen is the third book in my Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh crime series. The first (The Phoenix Project) was published in 2018, with the second (Seven Days) following on in January 2020. The Fifteen was written mostly during Lockdown and was published in August 2020.
The books are set in the UK with the main character,
Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh, part of the London Metropolitan Police.
There are several other ‘main characters’ that stay with the story lines
throughout each book, and I am really thrilled that many of the reviews I have
had to date comment on how strong and believable the characters are. For me,
writing is all about characterisation.
The Fifteen follows
the investigation into a serial killer with a unique twist to the plot.
The Blurb:
When the past finally
catches up with you, is it murder? Or justice?
When a bedbound, defenceless man is found dead in his London
nursing home, nobody saw his killer. But the killer left their mark. Detective
Inspector Jack MacIntosh soon discovers that this was no random killing; this
one was personal.
And it was just the beginning.
As the case unfolds, Jack is forced to think the unthinkable
as the evidence begins to point disturbingly close to home.
Revenge – how long
would you wait?
Conversation
between a protagonist and antagonist in The Fifteen (There are several
protagonists and antagonists in this book, and I have changed all names in the
following extract to protect both the innocent and the guilty!)
“Stand
there and don’t move!” John Smith’s menacing tone cut through the otherwise
stillness of the cold night air.
Terry
Anderson’s legs trembled. He felt sick, but had already vomited up the entire
contents of his stomach and there was nothing left except acid. He choked back
the acrid taste and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“I don’t
even want to hear you breathe.” John Smith glared at Terry before turning his
attention to the other two figures standing behind him. David Smith’s pasty
face had a thin sheen of perspiration, giving him a wax-like appearance in the
moonlight. His father had told him to carry Danny Hopkins’ limp body over his
shoulder and trek the one and a half miles to the fringes of the woodland that
skirted the grounds of St Bartholomew’s.
And
David always did what his father told him.
“Start
digging.” John Smith thrust a rusty spade towards his son. “We don’t have all
night.” He knew that the woods were a haven for dog walkers – early morning dog
walkers – some even setting out before the sun was up.
Terry
Anderson watched as David Smith began to shovel earth from beneath a
wide-bodied tree. The ground was frozen and hard. It had been an exceptionally
dry winter with not a drop of rain, freezing or otherwise, gracing the
landscape for weeks. The sheen of perspiration on David’s brow now turned into
droplets of sweat.
All the
while, Danny Hopkins lay lifeless on the cold ground at John Smith’s feet. The
man barely gave the boy a second look.
Terry
felt himself sway as the nausea rose up once again inside him and he turned
away, unable to look at poor Danny’s broken body. Instead he started to
whimper.
“I
thought I told you to keep quiet!” John Smith’s thunderous voice spat towards
Terry, making him flinch. Within seconds, John Smith was at his side, grabbing
hold of both of his arms in his vice-like grip. “Shut up! Stop snivelling!”
Terry
then felt himself propelled forwards so that his face was mere inches from
Danny’s still form.
“Unless
you want to end up like your friend here, keep quiet! I don’t want to hear
another sound.”
With a
final thrust of Terry’s head towards the ground, John Smith turned away to
oversee the digging of the makeshift grave. The other figure, hanging back in
the shadow of the trees, Terry recognised as the portly gentleman who had
dragged Danny to his death in the hospital wing. He, too, looked somewhat
shell-shocked, his face white and blotchy. Saying nothing, he merely twisted
what looked like a jumper or sweatshirt in his hands, wringing it like it was a
damp tea towel.
Terry
staggered backwards and leant up against a nearby tree trunk, his legs
quivering like unset jelly. He wiped his eyes on the Swap Shop scarf that hung
loosely round his neck.
“It’s no
good, the ground’s too hard.” David Smith flung the spade onto the ground with
a thud.
Cuffing
his son around the ear, John Smith grabbed the spade and began stabbing at the
frozen earth. “You’re useless. Bloody useless!” With a final smack around the
head, he sent David flying onto his knees.
Grunting
with effort, John Smith put all his weight behind the spade, forcing it, time
after time, into the ground. After a minute of frenzied digging, he threw the
spade angrily onto the hardened ground, blood dripping from his hands.
“Just
drag him over!” he yelled, kicking at the ground with his boot. “Cover him up!
Now!”
David
scrambled to his feet, cowering beneath his father’s imposing shadow.
“Put his
clothes back on first.” John Smith threw Danny’s clothes at his son. “You. Help
him.” He glared at Terry, his eyes bulging with anger. “NOW!”
Terry
staggered away from the sanctity of the tree, tears cascading down his cheeks.
He watched in horror as David Smith proceeded to pull Danny’s underwear and
jeans back over his limp legs. His tiny body flopped like a rag doll, rigor
mortis not yet setting in. David wiped his brow as more droplets of sweat
dripped down onto Danny’s jeans.
“I said
help him!” John Smith picked up Danny’s t-shirt and thrust it towards Terry’s
quivering form.
Terry
took the t-shirt in his trembling hands and tried to place it over his friend’s
head. The tears in his eyes made everything around him blurry. As he leant in
closer, the Swap Shop scarf fell forward onto Danny’s body.
“For
God’s sake, hurry up! The pair of you are useless!” John Smith bent down,
pushing Terry out of the way, and began pulling Danny’s yellow t-shirt over his
head, forcing his arms through the sleeves. Blood from his blistered hands
smeared across the bottom hem. He wiped the rest on Danny’s jeans and looked
up. “You see this here?” He nodded down at Danny’s body. “You breathe a word of
this to anyone – ever – and you’ll end up just like him. Understand?!”
Terry
nodded, ashen-faced.
“I said,
DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” John Smith’s
voice echoed around the woodland. His eyes bulged and spit flew from his mouth
as he shouted across the top of Danny’s body.
“Y…yes.”
Terry’s voice shuddered. “I…I understand.”
“You
tell NO ONE. You hear?” John Smith
pushed himself to his feet and glared across at Terry. “You tell NO ONE. You trust NO ONE.” Wrenching the Swap Shop scarf from on top of Danny’s
chest, he flung it towards Terry with a venomous look.
Terry
nodded, and watched as John and David Smith slung Danny’s body into the shallow
grave and began dragging leaves, twigs and branches across to cover his pale
body. Before Danny was completely covered the portly gentleman, who had been
hovering in the shadows, stepped forwards and handed John the sweatshirt he had
been holding so tightly. The name on the label was clearly visible – ‘William
Brown’ – and John tossed it in beside Danny’s partially covered body.
After a
few minutes, with Danny’s body covered by enough twigs, leaves, branches and
chilled earth, John Smith grabbed hold of Terry’s arm and dragged him out of
the trees, back in the direction of St Bartholomew’s. He leant in close to
Terry’s ear.
“You
tell no one.”
Who would you
choose to play each of them in film or TV series?
The above scene is a flashback scene, from 1982. In the
present day, I would maybe have someone like Damian Lewis to play the ‘Terry’
in the above extract. For the modern day ‘John Smith’, I would have someone
like David Bradley or Gary Oldman
Although DI Jack MacIntosh is not in the above extract, I
would have him played by someone like James Nesbitt or Ewan McGregor. And I
have another antagonist (who shall remain nameless!) who would be perfect for
Liam Neeson!
What is the
creepiest action taken by your antagonist?
In my second book Seven
Days, the killer uses the same kill method (strangulation) for his victims
and lays them out in full view in London parks, but he leaves a shoe at each
scene which belongs to the next of
his victims.
In my current publication The Fifteen, the killer brands his victims with a homemade tattoo, sometimes while they are still alive.
Author Bio
Michelle Kidd is a self-published
author known for the Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh series of novels.
Michelle qualified as a lawyer in
the early 1990s and spent the best part of ten years practising civil and
criminal litigation.
But the dream to write books was
never far from her mind and in 2008 she began writing the manuscript that would
become the first DI Jack MacIntosh novel – The Phoenix Project. The book took
eighteen months to write, but spent the next eight years gathering dust
underneath the bed.
In 2018 Michelle self-published The
Phoenix Project and has not looked back since. There are currently three DI
Jack MacIntosh novels, with a fourth in progress.
Michelle works full time for the
NHS and lives in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk. She enjoys reading, wine and cats –
not necessarily in that order J
Website:
Social Media links:
www.facebook.com/michellekiddauthor
(Facebook)
@AuthorKidd (Twitter)
@michellekiddauthor (Instagram)
Bibliography:
The Phoenix Project (DI Jack MacIntosh
book 1) https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HVXMDM5 https://www.books2read.com/u/bW1Np1
Seven Days (DI Jack MacIntosh book
2) https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08413GDYQ https://www.books2read.com/u/bMp5zX
The Fifteen (DI Jack MacIntosh book
3) – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08FH5WH9L https://books2read.com/u/bMP00A
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